these pieces are mostly unfinished excerpts from the folio of writing which i've been compiling this semester. it helps to type them out - kinda part of the drafting/growth process! i see some of them as more finished pieces now...they are all quite different. comments welcome as usual :).
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i am in a war
just me.
alone, i see skeptically
i have proven murphy's law
a living example of the way
it all falls apart and
comes back together
simultaneously
every second
every person
every time.

i am a witness to
new growth from death
beautiful love is appearing
from the grave of my tears
i am scuffed, an old shoe
but
at least in that
my scars have been of value
for now i see
a seed has been planted.
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i slam myself against the bars of this cage
i whistle softly into the darkness
listening for an echo, somewhere
who knows when i'll see the stars again
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someone has dropped honey on my skin
sticky, it smears
cat-like, i lick it off

hiding my indiscretion with a curtain of golden hair
shine in the sunlight, and we are outside
under the trees, under the birds and powerlines
under the overarching heart of the world

the sky, emotions printed in a depth of clouds
better than any laser high-tech nothing they could have created;
more than this plastic and metal space
it reflects light.
it reflects my light and
the giving, the shining, of everyone else.

the world is full of honey
full of sticky sweet history
golden souls contained only
by skin

expelled only
by words
and smiles under stars
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there was a murder in this house
once.
blood, dripping down the stairs
then congealing, still
staining the plain wood
staining the structure
supporting this small space;
silence.

the blood remains
deep under plush new carpet
beating like a heart
under your feet
not much left in this place but the
call of the blood that you feel
when you walk through the door
nothing but
that piece of the past
echoing there.

the screams that remain
are held in the stain
of the blood that's been dripped down the stairs
these moments cannot be seared away from
empty space, empty of all but
scars of history, seared through
through the wood, through time
like nothing more or less
like the light

the light is all that remains the same
as it pours through the dusty window
despite the screams
unaltered
unchanged
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around the corner
a gentle giant
many different faces beneath
one amiable smile
but so soft
voice hands walk
all soft
all gentle

and i no longer care
about finding perfection
maybe perfection is
accepting simple things
and being happy that
life is good.

you are good.
i know this
where my ribs meet
that centre of soft warmth pulsates
i become quiet; still
and i smile with no cause
but seeing you
and in your smile which returns my warmth
i recognise that
simple things can make you
content
and content can make you
happy.

for once it is enough
i do not
- in this moment, now -
need more.
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how dare i claim
that all i've ever wanted
still is not enough
only human and so selfish
i am haunted, hunted
by that innate desire
to be more, have more
be better, fuller, higher
will i ever achieve
rest from this foolish dream?

i am running faster
faster further
darkened spaces
narrow bridges
no way out.
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i have said
i am changing like the sea
people say that it
that i
am beautiful
but they have forgotten

those waves are full of
cigarette butts
plastic bags
lost thongs
and also that even the pure sea water
the kind you see at
as-yet-untarnished
holiday places
is full of salt.

is it all about the different people that we are?
the different eyes which look out from each changing face?
it does not matter which face we take on
day by day water reflecting
growth change multiple personalities
the salt will always glisten and alter
our view
like tears.